


Crescent

by LIGHTSJOON



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: ATEEZ - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Utopia, Angst, Bandits & Outlaws, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, Dreamscapes, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, Kings & Queens, M/M, Portals, Princes & Princesses, Unrequited Love, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 01:21:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20827019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LIGHTSJOON/pseuds/LIGHTSJOON
Summary: Seonghwa and Yeosang are allies in one universe...and mutual rivals in another. Then one day their realities cross over.





	1. Crescent

CRESCENT

☽

[ _ open your eyes _ ]

✧ · 

˚ 

* · · · · 

* · · 

*

  
[ _ for we live a life, and death is coming for it _ ]


	2. Prologue

Prologue

[10 Years Ago]

☾

“A long time ago, during a time before you or I, there were three brothers. In time, they learned that they were not like the others. Perhaps one could even say they were never truly human, regardless of their humanesque form. The youngest of the triad was considered to be the most handsome, with features that mimicked those a god itself. Although he was reckless, the balance of the lives and deaths of the human realm teetered in the palm of his hand. The second oldest brother was the shyest; however, he was also the most considerate and mindful. He would rarely contribute even the smallest of thoughts, and even when he did, regardless of his tremendous power, they were never taken into any serious consideration. So, he silently helped those desperately in need from afar. For it was his job to maintain growth and prosperity in the realm in an effort to combat the tremendous deaths that were occurring as a result of the younger brother’s greed. Naturally and unfortunately, due to their vastly different cosmic roles, the younger siblings clashed in countless ways. And then, there was the eldest of the brothers. An entity that no one had seen before. The greater majority of the human population assumed he took on a human skin much like his younger brothers; nonetheless, no one’s curiosity had ever been quenched. Rather, the questions concerning his identity and appearance grew with each passing day. Of course, his brother knew of his existence, knew of his appearance, but in the hundreds and thousands of years they lived amongst the people of this world, they had only seen him maybe a handful of times. Even they, his own otherworldly blood-related family, found the image of their wisest, and sometimes cruelest, brother fading from their minds. The only time he would reveal his face to them was during times of great dissonance between prosperity and mortality. He strictly remained in neutral territory, unable to take one side or the other, for he was the wielder of the keys to time and space; he was to abide by an impartial and impersonal lifestyle until the likelihood of their present reality swallowing itself whole became more and more prevalent. 

“Together, they ruled a singular, unified land. One that was unyielding to the large body of water that threatened to divide it. Its people,  _ their people _ , lived neither peaceful nor chaotic lives; they merely persisted in living regardless of circumstance or condition. Some were happy, others filled with hate, and that made all of the difference. 

“Through the eons, the checks and balances that the brothers had developed to limit one another began to flail. Repeatedly. To the point where reality was on the brink of complete and utter destruction. The eldest brother was nearly afraid that their place in the universe was about to be reduced to nothing but the darkness that was continuously and mindlessly expanding, unbothered and oblivious to the chaos that was ensuing in their microscopic corner of the cosmos. Before it was too late, the sovereign keeper of time divulged himself to his ruthless and impetuous younger brothers for the first time in nearly an age. He knew the only way he could keep the present world from collapsing beneath their reputable power was to divide and let  _ them _ conquer a world for themselves. 

“In a world where two brothers went to war against one another, the third stepped in and split reality into two—tearing a gaping hole through time and space itself. On one side of the dimensional portal, the youngest brother would come to reign with his fist of iron; while the middle brother would remain on the other side, in his present reality, to resolve and remedy the chaos that ravaged there. The eldest brother would return to his throne in the blackened stars to supervise the two realms for the rest of eternity. 

“What he didn’t realize until too much time had passed was that not only had he created separate worlds for his siblings to manage for themselves, but he birthed a hellish duplicate of his second brother’s reality. In that Hadean realm lived the same people as those who lived on the other side of the portal gates, with significant differences connected to personality and ideologies. The separate worlds were two drastically different sides to the same coin. A world of Eternal Night and one of Eternal Day. 

“Legend states that both worthy and unworthy subjects can be granted passage from one realm to the other under the direct supervision of the all-seeing, omniscient keeper of the gates. Unfortunately, no one has ever divulged how earthly citizens become worthy or unworthy enough to pass through the gateway into the opposing reality. However, those who  _ have _ travelled to and fro find themselves either unable to remember the memories of their time in Twilight, or have disappeared.”

The young ash blonde child cowered in his blood red sheets, bewildered eyes awaiting further explanation from his mother, but when the story discontinued and words ceased, he sat up hesitantly and asked, “But...where do they go?”

His mother pulled the sheets up to his chin and sighed with scant amusement, “No one truly knows, my sweet prince. Yet, many speculate they are handed over to the hellish god of Twilight for him to manage and expend in whatever way he deems suitable.”

Seonghwa could feel the hot frightful tears lining the brim of his bottom lashes when his mother tussled the edge of his hair, “There’s nothing to fear. As long as you do everything we say, there’s no force in the world that could ever lay a hand on you.”

A nod of the head was all he could muster as his mother stood from the mattress, reverting to its original shape. She made a short movement to turn out the lights, but Seonghwa shot his arm out and stopped her in her tracks, “It’s okay. I’ll get it before I fall asleep.”

She offered him a warm smile, running her fingers through his hair one last time before making her way towards the door, “Sweet dreams. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Seonghwa returned the sentiment with a flicker of a faux smile, knowing all too well that his dreams were going to be anything but pleasant.


	3. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

[Present Day Utopia]

☽

Yeosang never considered the possibility that he would be spending his birthday sitting through military logistics and strategy lessons in the family library. He had spent the last three hours sitting in the impossibly hard wood chair, books and maps splayed across the table, while his private tutor drilled him on the basics of unit formations, which he already learned years ago. If anything it felt like a poor excuse that was forced onto him by his parents to keep him from doing what he actually wanted to be doing, which was researching whatever he could dig up about the local myths and legends, ones that he had been sheltered from nearly his whole life. Unfortunately, he knew it would have to wait until tomorrow. On the evening of a royal’s birthday, the other royal counterparts who were spread across the realm would travel to feast and celebrate the mere fact that the respective prince or princess hasn’t been successfully assassinated yet. It was, and always has been, a grand mind game that distorts the alliances that were nothing more than enemiships. An old time struggle for power and respect between eight wealthy vying families. Needless to say, the craftsmen and blacksmiths were overworked with the number of crowns and diadems that the eight Utopian royal families commissioned each year. Sometimes even twice a year. He was sure his crown collection alone was nearly priceless. His parents had commissioned two a year for him since his birth, and with the addition of the headpiece they designed for his twentieth birthday, it would bring his count to forty. His parents stopped commissioning crowns for themselves long ago, and regardless of the numerous times that he insisted they stop crafting the useless headwear for himself, one would still manage to appear on his vanity each year around his birthday and the holidays. By no means was his collection the grandest or the most ornate, considering that he was one of five twenty year old princes; additionally, his tastes were rather simple and minimalistic. It was the only matter in which his opinion was truly taken into any serious consideration. If anyone’s collection was to be matched it was the youngest sibling to the Park family of Utopia. 

Park Seonghwa was a mysterious character. His own parents argued that he was probably the biggest threat against the many other Utopian princes. Even though he was the youngest of three. Not because he was strong or more powerful than anyone else, but because he was quiet. In the world of oligarchs, silence is the ultimate power a person could wield. To be silent meant to be observant, and to be observant meant to be cunning, agile, and calculating. For as long as he could remember, Yeosang was always taught that poison was a woman’s weapon, or a weapon of servants and handmaids and butlers. Yet, there was much more beneath the surface. For it wasn’t the help that he should look out for, but the wicked mind that was behind the act. And if there was something much more dangerous and incomprehensible than the unpredictability of poison, then it was the deafening silence of Park Seonghwa at an oligarch’s communal gathering. Events that had the tendency of happening one too many times throughout the year: birthdays, coronations, judicial hearings, flashy—and he dare say, gaudy—masquerades that were hosted bi-annually; both held during the thick of winter, once at the birth of a year, and again at its death. It was nothing more than a poor excuse for the eight Utopian households to come together as one unit, one immeasurable force of strength, to remind the remainder of the populace as to who  _ truly  _ honed all of the wealth and power; down to the last drop of royal crimson blood.

“ _ Yeosang _ .”

His eyes snapped to the tutor who stood with his arms crossed at the foot of the room; features almost completely engulfed by the blackened shadow that encompassed his silhouette outlined by the blinding sunlight that streamed through the towering windows. Yeosang sighed and offered a brief apology as he stood and walked out before he could even take in his tutor’s appalled expression, which was followed by a series of angry and demanding curses that he never dare speak in front of either of his parents. 

The greater distance he put between himself and the dozens of charts and maps that were laid out in front of him in the library, the less anxious and irritable he felt. In that regard, he supposed. What really made his skin crawl was the sound of the bells from the bell towers, which echoed and rang from a distance of nearly two miles from where he stood, alerting him to the arrival of one of the seven remaining ruling families. 

Four rings. The Choi’s. Choi  _ San _ , to be exact. 

If the myths and legends of Eternal Day and Eternal Night were even somewhat of a tangible idea, then Choi San would embody the qualities of Eternal Day. Although his looks were as dangerous as Eternal Night, his personality was so overwhelmingly infectious that it made him feel sick to his stomach even flirting with the idea of being stuck next to one of the five Choi princes throughout the entirety of dinner. 

Yeosang sighed deeply before making a quick detour into his bedroom to reform himself into the prince everyone was expecting. It was all a show anyways; anyone and everyone who had the energy to care was a spectator to the madness of the life of eight royal families. They might as well have been put on broadcast for the whole world to see. People who paid close enough attention to the matters of the Utopian families knew every detail that defined each respective family. At least that’s what they think. Rather, it’s what they are  _ shown _ , because the royal families were picture perfect. Suits, ties, dresses, sashes.  _ Crowns. _ The trademark staples and brands of the centuries-long facade that each corresponding family spent honing, tweaking, and crafting. 

Yanking on the door handle, he was pulling on the heel of his right shoe when he was met with the stoic face of his mother, whose gaze travelled to the limp laces of his dress shoes. She didn’t so much as falter in her poise demeanor as she kneeled to knot the loose laces together. When she stood, back as straight and resistant as a pole, a quizzical look made her features waver as she glanced to his curls. He was vaguely aware of his feet moving back into the room as his mother pushed him by his shoulders until the back of his knees made contact with the bench that sat at the foot of his four-poster bed. 

“Mother…” 

She turned her back and reached for the comb that sat atop his vanity, “You clearly didn’t bother to even spare a glance in your mirror before nearly dashing out the door.”

“I heard the bells indicating San’s— _ the Choi’s _ —arrival,” he confessed, shutting his eyes against the world to relish in the relaxing feeling of the bristles against his scalp, “and I’ll admit that I panicked for a moment. Father told me to be at the gates to welcome them.”

The click of her tongue echoed around them as she continued to run the comb through the soft waves of his chocolate brown hair, “Your father wouldn’t have requested that your lessons be this late in the day if he wanted you to wait beyond gates all day for one of the other families to arrive. We have help around here for reasons such as these.”

Yeosang peeled his eyes open to meet the deep hazel eyes of his mother as she placed the comb on the mattress behind him. She offered him a simple, yet warm, smile as she gently smoothed her fingers across the surface of his hair. 

He noticed her squint, “You’re wearing contacts.”

It wasn’t so much a question than it was a statement. 

To the rest of the world, he was a brown-black haired, blue eyed prince. Ever since he was a boy, he detested the phantom shadow that was his natural eye color and requested that someone bring him a new pair of eyes—which he quickly learned was impossible. On the other hand, his father opened the doorway to a new opportunity for him to choose whatever eye color he desired. Colored contacts. Only those beyond the walls of their household were blind to the truth. Even to the remaining Utopian princes and princess, people he considered to be his friends as children turned enemy or ally once they reached the age of thirteen. 

“You seem surprised,” he countered.

She sighed, her hand lingering at the lapel of his suede, rich emerald suit, “You’re turning twenty. I thought we were past all of this.”

He studied the contemplation and worry that were clearly written between the lines of his mother’s face. Ever since he turned sixteen, his mother had spent the following months— _ years _ —attempting to convince him that the icy blue contacts were unnecessary; that the game of royals wasn’t always about outward appearance. Perhaps it wasn’t, but this game that was their lives was built on the importance of first impressions, which would then be immediately followed by assertion of power. Ever since the rules of this profession had been established, each of the  _ many  _ princes and princess were doing whatever they could to put their best foot forward. He couldn’t even give a rough estimate for how much money the oligarchs had been investing in on the faces and figures of their sons and daughters. 

It’s the reason why he found his mother’s words and sentiments laughable. They never measured up to her actions. If anything, she cared more about his appearance than his own father, filtering more money into trivial and useless items such as clothes, crowns, watches, shoes.  _ Earrings. _ If an accessory existed, his mother ensured that he had it in his arsenal of costumes. 

Yeosang set his jaw, “Then you know nothing.”

His mother flinched slightly at the comment when his eyes settled on the headpiece that had been crafted for the occasion, which he had almost forgotten in his mad rush. It was simple. Nothing more elaborate than two strands of golden olive branches braided around one another, with delicate beads of emerald in the place of where olives should be. It wasn’t a crown, nor a diadem. More so, a band that would rest just below the hairline and wrap around the back of his head. His mother’s stare followed his gaze to where the accessory sat atop a plush pillow. Without saying a word she stalked over to the vanity and plucked the branches between her fingers.

He gulped at the sudden heavy aura that emanated from the polished fragile strands. Once that circlet was pressed against the hot skin of his forehead, he would no longer be Kang Yeosang. The Kang Yeosang that mattered; the  _ real  _ him. He would dissipate, as if he were standing beyond his own body acting as a spectator, for however long the other royal families would inhabit their manor. He would be Prince Yeosang of the fourth Utopian household; the son and heir to his father’s name. Perfection was expected—demanded. 

The headpiece was heavier than it looked as his mother placed the well-crafted piece atop his hair, “It’s beautiful. While archaic in fashion, I’d say you have rather ornate taste.”

“Others would say simple,” he clarified, brushing away her touch to evenly distribute the weight of the crown.

A noise of defeat passed he lips, “ _ Wise _ , my son,” she corrected. “You have never cared about flashiness, never concerned yourself with trying to flaunt the tremendous power you hold in the palm of your hand. A power you refuse to wield. It’s what make you a force to be reckoned with. A dormant power to be feared by the rest of these prideful, pampered royal children.”

“The same could be said for Seonghwa,” he stated plainly. “Although he’s heavily decorated, his silence is deadly. They say wielding a pen can but much mightier than the most feared sword in existence...and Seonghwa is it’s master.”

Yeosang stood from the bench and crossed the room to where the door was still ajar. He looked back at his mother, whose features remained neutral, and rolled his eyes, “The true test of power is in  _ how  _ it is manipulated. Not  _ who  _ you manipulate. A lesson which you should take into consideration.”

☆

Although the drive to the Kang manor was a short ten minutes from the Park household, each minute that passed brought on more and more anxiety than the last as Seonghwa sat between his elder brothers. The pent-up tension was so thick that he swore he could probably slice right through it with the dagger he always tucked away in his blazer, which he had his tailors fashion with an opening for the sheath to fit snugly on the left side for easy access. 

The drive was entirely too short for his liking as they pulled up to the black iron gates of the estate, which were left wide open for their car to pass through. To his left, his eldest brother, Dongwon, scoffed, “I see the Fifths are overly punctual as per usual…”

Seonghwa craned his neck enough to see that Dongwon was referring to the sleek pearlescent shine of the Choi’s car of choice. 

“Everyone’s definition of impression varies, Dongwon,” his other brother, Junwoo, commented. A backhanded comment. Seonghwa resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the petty attempt at bickering. 

“No one every comes early for these things,” Dongwon shot back.

Seonghwa looked across the short space to where his parents sat, a look of complete indifference cemented on their faces as the driver pulled into the spot next to the Choi’s. Seonghwa made his way to crawl out after Junwoo, but quickly found himself face first in the jagged gravel. Anger flooded him, but he could never let either of his brothers know that as they walked off towards the towering wooden doors without even sparing a single glance in his direction. He quickly pulled himself together as his mother and father stepped out of the car, the latter taking a step forward to help him dust off the fine gray-white dust that collected on his burgundy suit. His mother gave him a quick once over before she pushed the both of them towards the door. 

“I’m sorry, Father,” Seonghwa muttered, running a hand through his blonde hair, as he straightened his lapels. 

His father grunted in response, followed by a reassuring squeeze to the shoulder, “You’re tougher than both of your brothers combined. Let’s just get through this dinner without any other accidents.”

_ Accidents _ . 

The only Kang child was revealed with the familiar creaking of the old wooden doors that Seonghwa would never forget. The nostalgia it evoked was enough to trigger a downward spiral of emotions and memories. Memories of a time when he could actually call Kang Yeosang his friend. All together, there had to be at least seventeen royal children who all varied in age and gender, and at one time or another, he could call seven of them his best friends. Until they weren’t. Somewhere along the way they let the power of their fathers’ names put a wedge between them and what truly mattered, that of which was each other and the bond that supposedly ran deeper than their blood. 

Since they were all within a similar age range, their parents collectively schooled them. The Kang family happily and willingly opened up their home for a bunch of rambunctious young boys to run about. Seonghwa couldn’t recall a moment when he heard either of Yeosang’s parents complain about the wild company, but rather they thrived off of the youth and happiness that filled their home for summers and winters at a time. 

Yeosang was and always has been an only child. There were several times he was close to being an older sibling, sometimes it was to a younger brother, and only on one other occasion was he to be the elder brother to a princess. But tragedy continued to strike at the heart of the Kang family. Over and over and over again. Seonghwa remembered the way Yeosang would have to tip-toe around his parents, whether it was physically or emotionally. There was a brief period of time where Yeosang’s mother couldn’t bear the sight of her own son. He could vividly remember sitting with Yeosang at the edge of the pond that had been installed in the backyard of the Kang manor. Yeosang’s mother dashed into the yard, kicking and screaming, trying to rip herself away from her husband’s touch, and when her eyes fell on her one and only son, she stalked over to where they sat and pushed him over the edge into the water. He had to have only been fourteen at the time; in the meantime, Yeosang had been sent by his father to stay with the Park family until his mother’s mental health stabilized. 

Ever since that day, Seonghwa couldn’t recall a moment when Yeosang  _ actually _ smiled a genuine smile. However, it was after Yeosang came to live with him and his family that he noticed things in their friendship were beginning to shift for the worse. His best friend, perhaps his only  _ true _ friend, was becoming more and more irritable as the days passed. Their conversations had become short and lifeless, and an overwhelming discomfort began to settle deep in his mind whenever they were forced to be in the same room with one another. A newfound uncomfortable silence divided them, pushing them onto respective sides of a fine line that signaled the beginning of their looming end. And in the six years that have passed since that time, they might have only looked each other in the eyes only a handful of times. He had grown grateful for the lack of contact. Even though he was less likely to act bold and pompous amongst the royal children, it seemed that Yeosang was beginning to redevelop the facade that veiled the broken young man who was being concealed from the remainder of the world. 

Seonghwa pulled himself from the thoughts to find Yeosang standing directly in front of him. His eyes slowly crawled up the elegant emerald suit that seemed to fit like a dream until they met the shell of the man he used to know. 

“Are you going to come in?” Yeosang’s voice sounded far away, “Or are you going to stand at our doorstep for the entire evening?”

He rolled his eyes as he buried his hands deep into his pockets. He didn’t owe Yeosang anything, and he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of thinking that his empty, careless inquiries were going to be given any serious consideration. Instead, he side-stepped the young prince, just enough so that his shoulder would make contact with his, and crossed the threshold into the manor. 

☆

The Kang manor had always been something that looked like it stepped out of a dream, and perhaps that’s why the people of Utopia were so drawn to it. While it was not the largest of the eight royal estates, it was certainly the most unconventional. A fortress made of solid  _ crimson _ crystal with colossal black front doors. A combination of white and red rose bushes wrapping around the house the way a serpent wraps itself around its prey. That’s certainly what it felt like to say the least. 

Yeosang glanced up and down the long stretch of the formal dining table that was ornately decorated with his mother’s finest set of china, which was only dusted and polished and then put to proper use perhaps twice every other year. The Kang Manor was not the overwhelming consensual location among the present families to throw large gatherings in. The space wasn’t particularly large—larger than most upper-crust estates, but not the largest—and with the total of royal children approximating to somewhere shy of seventeen, there were certainly more ideal settings. 

“How does it feel to be twenty, Yeosang?” He followed the sound of the sweet feminine voice several paces down from where he sat and met the gaze of Choi Mi Soo, San’s younger sister.

He offered a rather tired and considerate smile in her general direction; those at the table fell silent, patiently awaiting his answer. A brief chuckle rang throughout the room as he straightened his back, “I’m sure it feels the same as when Hongjoong and Seonghwa turned twenty.”

The clinking of forks and spoons against glass halted, a newfound uncomfortable silence shifting the aura of the room. If there had been crickets, he was sure they wouldn’t have been chirping. 

“But it is not the same,” she retorted. 

Yeosang looked at her quizzically. Age was but a number. It was nothing more than another glaring tally-mark etched into his internal calendar. The ticking of a narrow clock that was headed for the fate that had been prescribed not only for him, but for all living creatures.

She angled her body just enough so that she was facing him directly, but before her thoughts could be formed into words, San placed his hand over hers, naturally drawing her attention away from its ready source. Surprisingly, it was Hongjoong who spoke up, “It’s  _ your  _ birthday, Yeosang. That’s what makes it different.  _ Special _ .” 

There was a brief collective hum of agreeance that filled the space around them before everyone turned back to their plates and casual chatter. 

Yeosang’s eyes strained ever so slightly as he focused on the patterns imprinted on the china. Every few centimeters the jagged branches of peach blossoms crossed and interrupted the path of the other branches, which were forced to grow around one another. He studied his presumed  _ brothers-in-arms _ , who were spread evenly throughout the dining room, in a similar fashion. Each of them represented a branch that was either naturally grown or drafted onto their respective family trees. There was no  _ one  _ power in their present world. There was no realistic way for one individual, one family, to rule the entire Utopian continent that stretched a little over half-way across the globe. The power was shared and split equally amongst the eight longest reigning families, but that hadn’t put a halt to the pursuit of territory—thus, power. By no means were there any lines drawn. Rather, families were assigned to particular regions of the continent, which helped in distributing the balance of power. It ensured that there was some sort of authority supervising the people to make sure that they were holding to the codes and laws that had been established by the Eternals when the universe was rumored to be split in two. 

By the time dinner had finished, and dessert had been cleared away, Yeosang was sure he was seconds from collapsing into deep sleep as a result of the excessive socializing, and the night was only half over. At present, he was trapped on one side by the Kim daughter and the Jung daughter on his other, neither of which were subtle in their advances towards him—as well as their petty jealousy towards one another. He couldn’t say that he didn’t feel flattered by their interest, but he also wanted to shrug their lingering touches away for the sake of another’s. For the sake of propriety he would endure nonetheless.

Somehow the party had shifted from one large gathering into two; the parents took the liberty of lounging under the starlight in the backyard, while the many children remained indoors to be left to their own devices. Yeosang had been disgusted and humiliated by the pointed suggestion his father made about having  _ a good time _ as he glanced to the handful of daughters before slipping outside. Ever since he turned sixteen, his father hadn’t been able to remain quiet about the prospect of sex becoming a  _ priority  _ in his life. As an only child, an only  _ son _ of an acclaimed family, it was essentially his obligation to go forth and fornicate, which was the very last thing he cared about. He rolled his eyes at the thought of taking  _ any  _ of the royal daughters to bed, even if the world’s population counted on it. 

Yeosang shifted his eyes across the room where Seonghwa’s elder brothers were huddled around a couple of the royal women; their interest was so obvious it was practically jumping out of their pants. He knew that neither of them would hesitate to take advantage of whatever scenario would come their way with them. He had heard enough stories in passing to know that they weren’t afraid to gamble with not just their position, but their fortune as well. 

He suddenly felt suffocated by the close proximity of the women that sat on either side of him; he shrugged them away and stood to cross the room to where Seonghwa was reading a book in a distant corner. The elder drew his eyes from the words on the page to the spot directly across him from that Yeosang now inhabited. 

Seonghwa sat up a little straighter than he had before and shut the hardcover with a loud  _ thunk _ , “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Just go back to reading, pretend like I’m not even here,” Yeosang mumbled under his breath as he shut his eyes against the rest of the world around him. 

A deep sigh filled his ears, followed by the brief sound of shuffling. When he cracked an eye, he found Seonghwa staring back at him, arms folded across his chest. They sat there studying each other for a very long while. The tension that ran between them forced them into a bubble that drowned out the chatter of the others around them. Seonghwa looked as if he wanted to say something,  _ needed _ to say something. It was the same look that he’d noticed at every gathering for the last six years; he almost wished that Seonghwa would just let his pride crumble and come out with whatever truth he’s been hiding behind those eyes after all of this time. His curiosity was at its peak and if they didn’t clear the air sometime soon, his patience would eventually splinter. 

At one time in the not-so distant past they were friends. Best friends. Maybe even more than that. Yeosang was a firm believer in things like reincarnation, soulmates, and twin flames alike. If he had ever lived a life before this one, he was confident that he and Seonghwa were with one another in that life, or perhaps the many lives they might have endured, until the very end of those precious lives. No matter how much they appeared to hate one another, there was still a pull. One that was much stronger that Yeosang could ever care to admit. If they hadn’t cared for one another at all, they would be able to pass each other by without so much as a glance, but that wasn’t the case. If anything, they took turns stealing glances, and then pretending that they hadn’t. Although they were the firmest of the royal siblings in terms of labeling one another as enemies, they surely didn’t live up to their strict self-proclamations. No matter the occasion, the two of them seemed to find themselves sectioned off from everyone else like this at least once or twice. 

“Well, if this isn’t a sight for sore eyes…” 

Their private bubble instantly burst at the first word that fell from Jung Wooyoung’s mouth. Wooyoung stood at the foot of the ornately chiselled frosted glass coffee table, an overly obnoxious smirk draping his features. 

“Oh, please, don’t stop your staring contest on my account.” 

Yeosang stood from the cushions and pushed his balled fists as far into his shallow pockets as he could get them, “How have you been, Wooyoung? I’m sorry we haven’t been able to converse as much in the last few months.”

He merely shrugged and patted him on the shoulder, “That’s alright, I know you’re a busy man. You know, trying to secure familial succession and all.” 

Yeosang had to refrain from fumbling back a step at the backhanded insult, “What did you just say?”

Wooyoung’s smirk only deepened as he ran a hand through his evenly parted hair, “It’s nothing. Yet, it’s no surprise to the people that you’re... _ uninterested _ .”

His blood boiled at the insinuation, even though he had no right to be even remotely upset at the hidden truth that clung to the unspoken words that hung between them. 

Despite the effort he made to conceal it, he lost his footing as the room began to spin uncontrollably. He reached out for something,  _ anything _ , to keep him upright. He had hoped that it was the arm of the couch that he grabbed ahold of before his legs gave out right from under him and he was forced into an undiscovered land of pitch darkness.


End file.
